


Internal Conflict

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Desperation, Dreams, Dubious Consent, Fisting, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Disintegration, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control, Multiverse, Non-Consensual, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Power Dynamics, Role Reversal, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:16:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: In the aftermath of reversing Thanos' damages, and in destroying the Infinity Gauntlet, Loki is struck down by a sickness he expected - a lingering effect of the Mind Stone's addling of his mind.En Dwi, ever the exacting scientist, is keen to figure out exactly why his mind is cycling through so many little universes in order to try to cope.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, I put up a prompt for an idea similar to this on the MCU_Trash meme but I've been percolating on it for a while, and I've! Come up with an idea that I'm like, more pleased with. Same basic concept, different execution.

“Tan-Tan!” En Dwi says, and for once, Taneleer abandons his usual pretence of solitude and grumpy refusal of En Dwi’s affection. When Taneleer reaches him, walking almost briskly across the room toward him, he sinks readily into En Dwi’s arms, letting En Dwi hug him without complaint. Distantly, En Dwi feels a twinge of anger at the man who had reduced him to this miserable state… Thanos. Taneleer is warm where he presses close to his big brother, and En Dwi drags his mouth over the side of his temple, squeezing him tightly. “You should have, um, you should have called me, honey, I could have—”

“Shut up,” Taneleer mutters, his face pressed against En Dwi’s neck. En Dwi can see the back of Taneleer’s shoulder, where the fabric is ripped and shows patches of pale skin, mottled with bruises and wounds. Taneleer’s face is no better: one eye is swollen and black with blood; there are cuts on his cheeks; his usually pouting lip is split.

En Dwi doesn’t bother waiting for permission, and he draws his fingers over his brother’s face, healing up every one of the little wounds. Taneleer leans back to let him do it, and again, En Dwi feels a flare of anger. Tan-Tan’s dark eyes are downcast in humiliation, and En Dwi pats his cheek a little roughly before playing over his cheek, tapping his thumb against the black band on Taneleer’s chin.

“You okay?” En Dwi asks, forcing Taneleer to glance up and meet his eyes. Taneleer hesitates before answering, which— that’s good. A hesitation, mmm, that means he’s, uh, he’s thinking about it, that’s good.

“Yes,” Taneleer says, finally. “I am… He couldn’t have killed me, so…”

“Yeah, honey, but he _hurt_ you. Couldn’t have that, couldn’t have people, mmm… Couldn’t have people hurting my baby brother.” Taneleer’s dark eyes widen slightly, and he leans in an inch closer again.

“Couldn’t…” Taneleer repeats, softly. “Then, already, you mean, you have… What did you _do_ to him? I must know, I—”

“Let’s go sit down, little bro,” En Dwi says, pinching Taneleer’s cheek. “You want me to get you off this nasty, ugly head, get you a new planet? I can—”

“ _No_ ,” Taneleer says, emphatically. “Knowhere is mine. I’m not leaving.” And there’s a shadow of En Dwi’s little Tan-Tan – so territorial, so _particular_. He’s younger than most of the Elders, by far, and he lacks more than a passing bond to the Power Primordial: he has his psychic stuff, he can do a little bit of telepathy, and that’s— That’s it. He can’t defend himself, not when he invites ugly things like _Thanos_ …

Hmph.

“I didn’t call you here to help me,” Taneleer says.

“Oh, Tan-Tan, _don’t_ – let me fix up your—”

“I have something… of yours,” Taneleer says single-mindedly, and En Dwi reluctantly follows him down a corridor that is ill-lit by overgrown bio-lighting, which must have grown voraciously once released from its containment. Shattered glass crunches under En Dwi’s sandaled feet, and he knows, regardless of what Tan-Tan says, that he _will_ be fixing up his brother’s little museum before he goes anywhere. A fair few of his exhibits have been killed or destroyed, and some have escaped, but most of the living ones have stuck around, even though their cages are broken. Cute, that – it’s not loyalty to Taneleer, or fear of him, that stops them going anywhere. They just don’t know where else to go, their planets dead or dying, now stranded here on the head of a Celestial: he can see it from the lost looks in their eyes, so, uh, so distantly forlorn…

“Collector Tivan,” says a pretty boy, standing to his feet, and immediately, En Dwi smiles. He’s a cute little ray of sunshine, this one – Æsir, blond, rosy-cheeked, and _handsome_. The Æsir’s brown eyes widen as En Dwi reaches to touch his face, but Taneleer’s hand whips out, grabbing at his wrist.

“What?” En Dwi asks, faux-innocently. “You said you _had_ something for me, Tan-Tan, can’t I—”

“Not him,” Taneleer growls, shoving En Dwi’s hand away. “He’s _mine_.” En Dwi’s eyes flit to Sunshine, looking for his reaction, studying him, but he sees neither anger nor indignation – man doesn’t even look _resigned_. If anything, he seems to relax under Taneleer’s declaration of ownership, and he even takes a subtle step closer to Tan-Tan. _Cute_. It’s so— It’s so nice, when Taneleer finds a, um, a personal plaything.

“You must be Grandmaster Gast,” Sunshine says, a little nervously, but with more confidence than En Dwi would expect. Tan-Tan is stiff as a board – what _has_ he told this guy?

“It’s just— Gee, aren’t you the cutest little button in the box? It’s just _Grandmaster_ , baby: the one, the only.”

“The last?” Sunshine suggests, and En Dwi feels his lips part in delighted surprise: Sunshine smiles, a little more genuine confidence showing under his shy demeanour, and En Dwi feels himself laugh. It isn’t a threat, not… not exactly, but _boy_ , does it show spirit! Adorable!

“You— Mmm-hmm, you really are _something_.” Sunshine looks to Taneleer, who is busying himself with an imaginary crease on Sunshine’s green-silk tunic.

“Will he be able to help?” he asks, in the smallest of voices.

“He may not… _wish_ to,” Taneleer says, and his eyes flit back to En Dwi, betraying a genuine uncertainty in the set of his lips. Sunshine hesitates for a second longer, and then he steps back.

“Come,” Sunshine says, leading the two of them back farther into the darkened room – En Dwi doesn’t miss the way his hand lingers on Taneleer’s wrist, and he sees the bandages wrapped tightly around Sunshine’s hands. This room had been an infirmary, once: now, it is mostly just a room full of twisted metal and more broken glass, stinking strongly of antiseptic. At the far end of the room, well-lit by clinical lighting and noticeably clean of debris, there is a white screen drawn around a little square of space – just enough to host a bed. “He said to me, he said that he had been on Sakaar, before…” Sunshine looks into the middle distance for a moment, and then he shakes his head, forcing a beatific smile onto his face. “That was your planet, wasn’t it? Sakaar?”

Ignoring him, En Dwi sweeps the screen aside, and he feels himself freeze. Loki lies on his back, his eyes closed, his hands folded over his belly, as if he’s a corpse. He doesn’t breathe, and when En Dwi reaches out with a little tendril of power to feel for a heartbeat, he finds it weak, but constant.

Stepping forward, he reaches out for Loki’s bare neck, shown off by the filmy night gown he’s in, and he immediately rips his hand back.

“ _Ow_ ,” he says, more out of surprise than pain, and he stares down at the frosted burns on his fingers before turning to look at Sunshine. The bandages on his hands are tightly bound, but En Dwi would guess that he has much worse burns on his own palms and fingers, and he can see a spot of blood on the cuff of Taneleer’s white glove. Uh _huh_. “He isn’t mine,” En Dwi snaps out, surprised by the irritation that flares in his own voice. “He’s— You know, he _betrayed_ me, he—”

“He was begging for you,” Sunshine says softly. En Dwi doesn’t like to be interrupted, but the hardness in his eyes doesn’t seem to deter Taneleer’s pet in the least. “Grandmaster, I’d never heard the like. He was sobbing and _begging_ that I return him to you: he asked for you by name. Thor tried to take him, but before he slipped into this seiðr-coma, he was very specific in his desires.”

“Thor,” En Dwi repeats venomously. “And— Tell me, where _is_ Sparkles? I heard on the grapevine that he was, uh, that he was dead.”

“He was,” Sunshine murmurs. “Loki brought him back.” Swallowing, he glances back to the prone form on the table, Loki, whose chest doesn’t even rise and fall. Sunshine’s brown eyes are watering slightly, shining in the dim light. “If he… He worried, that something like this would happen. If no one can pull him out of it, I am… He asked me to kill him.” En Dwi clenches his right hand into a tight fist, keeping it close to his side.

“Tell me what happened,” En Dwi says. Taneleer stands with his back straight, his hands clasped before him, but not too tightly: he’s burned too, even if he’s not as badly burned as Sunshine here, and he won’t admit to it.

“Fandral knows better than I,” Taneleer mumbles, and he gestures for En Dwi to follow him to what turns out to be a small living room across the corridor – it has escaped the majority of the damage, and is only lightly singed.

En Dwi leans back in his seat, and he waits for Taneleer’s pet – _Fandral_ , is it? – to brew them some tea.

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

“After leaving Sakaar,” Fandral says over a pot of steaming tea, “Loki followed Thor and Brunnhilde—” Gee, he’s just been talking for _hours_ now, it seems like. En Dwi can’t bear it.

“Scrapper 142,” En Dwi corrects gracefully, and Fandral frowns at him, but does not bother to actually argue.

“To Asgard. The only way they could think of to defeat Hela was to let free the spirit of the Muspel King—”

“Listen, Sunshine, maybe, uh— Maybe skip to the Assguord backstory, huh? Jump right to Thanos.” Fandral sets his pretty jaw, and he crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

“If you do not care to hear Loki’s tale, what sense is there in regaling it to you?” Fandral demands, his voice terse.

“I only care about _action_ , baby, I—”

“I will to the directory,” Fandral says sharply, standing to his feet and pulling on a pair of supple, green leather gloves that don’t fit too well over his bandages, and make him let out a quiet hiss of pain. “I have yet to complete my day’s labour.”

“Fandral,” Taneleer says lowly, taking on the dangerous tone he reserves for scolding his pets, “Sit down.” Fandral, it seems, isn’t house-broken quite yet, because he doesn’t even _flinch_.

“T’is a shame my brothers are all dead, Taneleer,” Fandral says airily: his voice is thick, and En Dwi can see he is on the verge of tears – looks like he’s gonna cry for real this time, instead of just tearing up. Very emotional, isn’t he? “You might have learned the value of a brother who finds himself in possession of nobility.”

En Dwi iss off the couch in a second, and while Taneleer pulls ineffectually at En Dwi’s sleeve, En Dwi tightens his hand around Fandral’s lovely throat. Defiant, even through the ugly, sticky mess of tears that redden and shine on his cheeks, Fandral meets his gaze and he doesn’t look away.

“I have lost my home, my family, my _people_ , all in one fell swoop,” Fandral whispers, his voice hoarse from the grip of En Dwi’s hand, his breaths reedy and laboured. “I don’t pretend myself important, En Dwi Gast, to you or to anybody else, but I will not pander to your whims whilst my brother in arms lies dying from his own magic, he who _called_ for you, who spoke of you as he has only ever spoken of his wives, and have you spit irreverence into my face! I will not stand it: I cannot. Kill me if you cannot bear to hear the truth.” The silence lasts for a long few seconds: throughout, Taneleer drags and _drags_ at En Dwi’s arm, trying to pull him away from Fandral, and Fandral keeps his gaze on En Dwi’s face.

“How long you had this one, Tan-Tan?” En Dwi asks lowly.

“A year,” Taneleer says: his grip is so tight on En Dwi’s arm that he’s fairly sure the fabric of his robe will rip any second now, and his tone is almost plaintive. “He fell through… a time distortion. Let him _go_.”

“No, no, tell me, little bro,” En Dwi says in a whisper, squeezing a little tighter, and Fandral’s eyes widen as he stops being able to breathe at all. “Is he a new hire, or is he part of your collection?”

“Let him _go_ ,” Taneleer bites out, almost desperately as Fandral’s eyes water more, as he grasps loosely at En Dwi’s wrist with his fingers already weakening, trying to drag En Dwi physically away from him, and En Dwi feels his jaw twitch. “He’s _mine_.” En Dwi releases the Æsir, and Fandral coughs violently, bending over at the waist and clutching at his own throat. Immediately, Tan-Tan shoves En Dwi out of the way, tilting Fandral’s chin up so he can look him in the eyes, and En Dwi sees Taneleer cup his cheeks so _softly_ —

En Dwi feels a distant, sinking feeling.

“Tan-Tan,” he says warningly, but Taneleer just shoots hm a desperate, wide-eyed look over his shoulder. Oh no. Oh, _no_.

“Don’t, En Dwi,” he says softly, clutching at Fandral’s shoulders as he delicately massages his own throat. “Don’t.”

“Stars,” En Dwi mutters in disgust, feeling his lip curl as he glances between the two of them, standing sickeningly close to one another. This is gonna be like Matani, all over again, isn’t it? “Tan-Tan, haven’t you _learned_ not to get attached by now? What’s your average lifespan, Sunshine? Eight-thousand? Seven-thousand?”

“Ten,” Fandral says in a tiny voice.

“Ten thousand years,” En Dwi echoes, looking at Taneleer meaningfully as his brother does his best to avoid making eye contact. “At least _he_ won’t have time to get tired of you.” Taneleer whirls on En Dwi, and the punch to En Dwi’s jaw does nothing but bruise Tan-Tan’s already-hurt knuckles under his gloves, making him let out a choked noise of pain.

“Go away, then!” Taneleer nearly shouts, his voice full of venom. He levels the words at En Dwi’s chest, rather than at his face. “I don’t need your help, or your advice, or your condescension… Take your pet or _leave_ him. I couldn’t care less.”

“Aw, Taneleer,” En Dwi murmurs, and he pats his brother’s cheek, watching the way he flinches away from the touch. “ _Cute_ , that you think— That you think you can give me orders. Go on, then, take your little ray of sunshine and play with him a while, put a smile back on that face of yours. I’m gonna take a look at Lo-Lo.”

“Can you save him?” Fandral asks, suddenly desperate. So much _hope_.

“I thought, uh, I thought you couldn’t stand me, sweetheart?” Fandral looks at En Dwi wretchedly – him and Tan-Tan, gee, they’d really be _made_ for each other if Sunshine here weren’t such a mayfly. So _sulky_ , both of them – and so, ha, so _dramatic_! “I’ll talk to you later, Tan-Tan.”

He slips out of the room, heading back to the infirmary, and he tunes out the sound of Fandral speaking softly to Taneleer. Loki hasn’t stirred. He’s laid down on the bed, still… It’s a little creepy, how corpse-like he is, and yet _alive_.

“You’re a traitor, baby. A real— You cost me, uh, a whole _planet_.” No response. “Lost my favourite scrapper, my champion – Topaz, you know, Topaz _died_.” Nada. “And you begged for me, huh? You _begged_?”

He’s ready for the shock of cold this time, when he touches Loki’s chest, and he feels it eke into his _bones_. It’s Loki’s magic that’s trying to keep him cool, that’s for sure, but it’s bolstered by something else, something…

“Lo-Lo?” En Dwi asks, and his palm slides over Loki’s chest through the hospital gown, over the sternum, over where the Æsir heart is, and midway down his right side. He’s used to Lo-Lo’s heartbeat being a little slow, even when En Dwi gets him – _got_ him – hot and bothered back on Sakaar, because he’s bigger, denser, than he looks, but… Golly, it’s weak. En Dwi doesn’t like that. “Can you hear me, baby?”

And _begging_.

What’s that about? Begging for him, for En Dwi? _Why_? En Dwi liked Loki, sure he did, but his little kitten was a toy, a plaything, and he knew it – En Dwi sure had _tried_ to get the little guy wrapped around his finger (or, ha, or other things) but Loki had been _far_ from tame when he’d managed to escape, still dreaming of strangling poor Daddy when he got the chance…

En Dwi presses his fingers to Loki’s heart through his ribs.

Loki doesn’t stir.

He dreaming? Maybe. En Dwi prises open one of his eyelids, and his suspicions are confirmed: Loki’s eyes are unseeing, but his pupils dilate and contract and shift around, as if he’s focusing on stuff inside his own head.

This sure isn’t a game, but… Hmm. It’s a puzzle, maybe. En Dwi indulges a puzzle, now and then.

Pushing two fingers to Loki’s teple, En Dwi closes his eyes, and lets himself slip into his little (ex-)pet’s imaginings.

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

“Hey, honey,” En Dwi finds himself saying, and he sees he is looking Loki in the face. He’s dressed in water’s whites, his chin high, his hair tied back, and he is doing his best not to look at En Dwi’s hand, which is settled on his waist. En Dwi is… A criminal, yeah? Yeah, yeah, he feels the details in the back of his head, slipping into place like toy bricks – mmm, he’s a crime _boss_ , oh, he likes that.

“Mr Gast,” Loki whispers, and his throat bobs handsomely as he swallows. He looks at En Dwi with a little genuine fear in his eyes, and that, that En Dwi _likes_. He’s— Mmm, he’s maybe a little bit angry at Lo-Lo, even having spent a year away from him, and he really would like to, uh… To punish him. “I— I’m… Please, don’t…”

“Loki, isn’t it?” En Dwi asks mildly, letting his hand slide down Loki’s hip, feeling for that fat, generous curve of his ass and delighting at the way Loki shocks under it. “Mmm, you’re, uh, you’ve been a great waiter. You got a brother, right? Thor? He’s, um— He’s part of the Yazid police force, isn’t he?” Loki’s eyes widen, and En Dwi grabs him by the front of his blouse. The little bits of information, the building blocks to this little dream of Loki’s, are building up more and more: En Dwi is a crime boss, and Lo-Lo is the brother of a cop… What’s he here for? With a wire? Hm. “That why you agreed to do the, um, do the reception here tonight, huh? Come to a wedding and try to catch a criminal?”

“No, no, Mr Gast,” Loki says hurriedly, trying to pull away and not really managing it. “ _No_ , Mr Gast, I barely speak to my brother, I just needed the money, please don’t—” En Dwi squeezes, and Loki whimpers out a noise.

“You know who I am though, right?” En Dwi asks. “Me, I… I deal more Yofora in this sector than, um… _Anybody_. You’re not gonna hold it against me just ‘cause it’s illegal, right?” He bats his eyelashes, and Loki whimpers, trying to pull at En Dwi’s wrist and drag it away from his shirt. He doesn’t— _Does_ he recognise En Dwi? En Dwi can’t really tell – telepathy is so hard in dreams, and his kitten was always a great actor, back on Sakaar…

“I’m sure I don’t know anything about that,” Loki whispers. “Please, Mr Gast, let me go.”

“Hmm,” En Dwi murmurs, thoughtfully, and then says, “ _No_.”

Grabbing Loki by the throat, he throws him over the table En Dwi sits at alone, and Loki lets out a wail as plates and dishes go clattering to the ground, the fine china smashing to pieces on the tiled floor. Members of the wedding party are turning to look at them, but En Dwi ignores them all, picking up some conjured Yazid cuffs – made of magnetic clasps, very useful – and strapping Loki down on his belly to the table, his wrists spread out and his ass hanging, mmm, so nicely, over the edge.

Loki sobs out a noise, and En Dwi brings his hand down in one, hard smack: the sound of it rings through the suddenly silent wedding reception, and Loki stops whimpering out his ugly little sounds of desperation, heaving in a gasp.

“Loki, do you know, um— Do you know what I’m gonna do to you?”

After a short pause, Loki draws in a shuddering breath.

“N-No, Mr Gast,” he whispers.

“Good,” En Dwi purrs. “That’ll make this a nice surprise.” And with that, he drags the knife from his pocket, and he rips through Loki’s white trousers.

“Mr Gast!” somebody protests, and En Dwi tuts, waving a hand in their direction to tell them to go away as Loki sobs out a desperate noise, trying to kick En Dwi off. There’s something— It’s weird, this dream. En Dwi’s dipped in and out of Loki’s sleepy imaginings before, but they’re always vague and filmy at the edges. This dream? It feels _real_ , fully-formed, three-dimensional – En Dwi can see unique features on every face in the room, see the expressions of horror as En Dwi victimizes a waiter seemingly at random.

“Mr Gast,” Loki whimpers, “you _can’t_.”

“Can’t I? Seems to me like you want me to, baby,” En Dwi says, and he grabs hard at Loki’s wet cunt. He isn’t sopping, not, uh, not yet: he’s a little bit juicy, juicy enough to be _nice_ , but he isn’t, uh, he isn’t dripping… En Dwi dips a finger just inside of that cool slick, and Loki chokes.

“No, no, no, Mr Gast, please, I’m sorry, he just— He just wanted me to _pickpocket_ you, to get hold of a card out of your wallet, I’m sorry, please let me go—” En Dwi shoves a second finger in, Loki’s quim a little too tight to take it just yet, and he delights at the wail that rips its way out of Loki’s cute little throat. He wants to punish him. Gee, En Dwi just wants to rip Loki to _shreds_ , really—

Mmm. Not yet, not just yet.

Pulling out his fingers, wet and heavy with Loki’s slick, he begins to rub one finger over Loki’s peachy little asshole. Loki gasps, and he begins to struggle again, shaking his head as viciously as he can. “ _No_! You can’t, you can’t—” En Dwi takes advantage of the way the hole _clenches_ , and he lets it tug his finger inside. Loki yells, and En Dwi shoves back somebody that tries to grab his arm, conjuring lube that plays thick over his hand as he leans in closer.

“You know, um— _Loki_ ,” En Dwi murmurs in his ear, and Loki sobs out a noise. Maybe he _isn’t_ acting – he just seems so, uh, so frightened, so tense… But even clenching with fear, muscle memory can hardly be overcome: Loki opens up to En Dwi regardless, and he lets En Dwi slide a second finger into his ass, spreading them a little bit wider and feeling Loki’s little pucker of muscle widen with them. His chest is hot against Loki’s back, and he delights in the way that Loki— Gee, how he _shudders_! “Do you… You really don’t remember?”

“Remember _what_!?” Loki demands, feverishly, desperately. En Dwi is thrusting his fingers into him, and he feels over Loki’s walls, dragging over his skin and then weighing down on the, um, on that _wonderful_ muscle…

“Aw,” En Dwi purrs. “You really _don’t_ , huh?” En Dwi adds a third, slick finger inside, and Loki begins to cry. His pretty baby blues just well up with tears, and he lets out a ragged, desperate sob, trying to kick him back. “Gee, I— I almost feel bad about _punishing_ you, honey. Almost.”

He scissors the three fingers as wide as he can, and delights in the way Loki _writhes_. Loki stops even trying to talk, just letting out desperate little sobs as he clenches around En Dwi’s fingers, and En Dwi shifts his hand slightly, sliding his pinky in with the others—

Loki grunts.

“I can’t— You can’t _put_ that much in me, I can’t take it,” he gasps out, trying to be firm, trying to be so… _Demanding_. Cute. En Dwi twists his hand a little more, and he slips his thumb against the pucker of Loki’s ass— Loki stiffens immediately. “ _No!”_

“Oh, yeah, honey,” En Dwi whispers. “You don’t get to run away from Daddy, you don’t get to ruin _everything_ , and get off so easy—”

“I’ve never met you before, please, please, just let me—” En Dwi slides his hand forward. Loki’s ass resists him, but En Dwi, he, uh, he isn’t a quitter. He rocks his hand little by little, pressing again and again on the muscle, and Loki _keens_ , tears running down his cheeks and dripping onto the nice white tablecloth.

“You’ve never met me before, huh? Then, uh, why, baby, is your ass so _slutty_ for me, huh? So greedy…” Loki gives way, and En Dwi slides his hand into Loki’s ass, nice and smooth, nice and gentle – he’s got all the lube in the world right here, and as he closes his hand into a nice, tight fist, he feels Loki _shudder_. “You’re my little pet, Lo-Lo,” En Dwi murmurs in his ear, flicking his tongue over the shell of it. “This little ass of yours? I’ll do whatever I _want_ with it.”

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

It isn’t satisfying.

Loki doesn’t remember him, no matter what En Dwi does – the fisting doesn’t trigger the memories, and nor does talking, and nor—

Nor does anything.

After an hour in Loki’s head, raking him over every coal En Dwi can think of, En Dwi grows bored, and he makes his way out of the infirmary, back in the real world once more. En Dwi remembers the slick that had dripped over his hand, and he delicately wipes it with a handkerchief even though his _real_ hand is nice and dry…

He glances in the directory, and he sees no sign of Taneleer _or_ his little pet. When he looks into a living room on the ground floor, that’s where he finds them: Taneleer is curled up on a sofa, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and his cheek is pressed to a pillow, Beside him, Fandral sits, stroking his hair, and En Dwi stares down at his brother, asleep—

Fandral stands to his feet, and he comes forward, leaving Taneleer asleep on the couch.

“Come,” he says softly, and he gestures for En Dwi to follow him down the corridor—

Hmph.

“He doesn’t sleep much, usually,” En Dwi says quietly, and he glances to his brother before they move down the corridor, and Fandral inhales. He hates how _powerless_ he feels, to fix things for his little brother, hates feeling powerless to force Loki into _remembering_ – powerlessness, this isn’t something En Dwi _knows_.

“He isn’t…” Fandral trails off, and then he drags his bandaged palm over his mouth, leading En Dwi into the directory. Boxes upon boxes of gathered-up samples rest in neat stacks, and En Dwi can see that Taneleer and his little pet have been, uh, been _hard at work_ , registering everything on paper instead of on Taneleer’s lovely little computer systems… “He’s been sleeping every night, since Thanos did something to him, not long ago, I don’t know what he did, Taneleer wouldn’t tell me. But it made him very ill, and he’s been sleeping ever since, every night… He’s beginning to sleep less now.”

“He shouldn’t have let this happen,” En Dwi murmurs, and he thinks of Loki not remembering him, Loki staring at him so blankly and in such pain, and how— How _frustrating_ it had been, punishing him for crimes he just couldn’t remember… “He should have called me.”

 Fandral says nothing, and for some reason, that annoys En Dwi too – he reaches out, grabbing him by the hair and dragging him closer. Fandral lets out a sharp noise of surprise, stumbling as En Dwi lifts him upon onto his toes, leaning in close enough that he can feel Fandral’s stuttered, panicked breaths against his mouth.

“What, uh, what is it about _you_ , huh?” En Dwi asks in a whisper, and Fandral grunts, but he keeps it quiet, keeps it quiet – he doesn’t want to wake Tan-Tan up, down the corridor. Ain’t that just the _cutest_ thing? “You’ve really settled in with him, haven’t you? Really, um, cosied yourself up with my little brother?”

“I’m not frightened of you, Mr Gast,” Fandral says, and he just sounds— _Exhausted_. He doesn’t seem frightened, no, that… That, En Dwi can believe.

He doesn’t like that.

“You should be,” En Dwi says softly.

“Maybe so,” Fandral says. “Release me. If you kill me, you’ll only have to revive me again, when Taneleer realises what you’ve done.” En Dwi’s lip curls, and he tightens his grip hard enough on Fandral’s hair to make him grunt in pain—

But then En Dwi lets him go. Fandral moves to stumble away, but En Dwi grabs him by the wrist before he can, beginning to drag away the bandages from Fandral’s right hand, and Fandral lets out a low sound of protest.

“Mr Gast, don’t—” En Dwi looks at Fandral’s palm, which is burnt to pieces, some of the flesh showing under the torn skin. It’s healing slowly, En Dwi can see, and he drags his fingers over the palm, delighting in the way Fandral whimpers in pain, until En Dwi’s magic begins to heal up the wounds. Fandral heaves in a choked gasp of noise, staring down, and when En Dwi gestures for Fandral to pass over the other hand, Fandral only hesitates for a second or two before he lets En Dwi begin to unfold the bandages.

“Tell me,” En Dwi orders, crisply. “What happened with Lo-Lo.”

“He loves you,” Fandral says.

“No, he doesn’t,” En Dwi replies smoothly. “But I, uh, I see why you’d think so, honey. Tell me.” Fandral hesitates, setting his pretty jaw, but then he delicately nods his head.

“Thanos met the ship, the Commodore, as they fled Asgard with what remained of the Sakaarii escapees, and those of Asgard that yet lived. Loki had retrieved from Asgard an artefact – the Tesseract - and in order to reach it, he wielded an object. The Mind Stone. Thanos sought stones of ancient power to set upon his gauntlet, and this was one of them. You know of it.”

“Uh huh.”

“You know Loki was once held victim by its power, even as he wielded it?”

En Dwi thinks of Loki, back on Sakaar. He’d only had his pretty boy for a few months, hadn’t been able to do _that_ much with him, but, uh—

Hm. He’d, uh, he’d been aware of the _threads_ , certainly, the little pieces of magic still wrapped right around Lo-Lo’s lovely little brains, chaining him back to Thanos, to that little stone, but En Dwi would have shattered them, with a little more time, would have cleaned Loki out…

And now?

“He… He met Thanos, on a battlefield, and Thanos declared he would spare Thor’s life, if Loki would only hand over the stone. Loki refused. Thanos stood with Thor’s skull held beneath his mighty hand, _squeezing_ , and still, Loki refused. Thor’s skull shattered like eggshell beneath his fingers, and Loki…” Fandral trails off, and he looks a little green, as if he might be sick: En Dwi delicately retracts his hands. “I don’t know the specifics of the rituals he used, to bolster his magic, the favours he asked, but I know that when he met Thanos on the battlefield, so many months later, he was power incarnate. He turned Thanos to naught but blood and meat, so the stories say.”

Fandral, he, uh, he isn’t comfortable with that. It isn’t fear in his eyes, exactly, but there’s a distant disgust in his face, a deep discomfort… Fandral swallows, and he puts his newly-healed hands on the sides of his face.

“He, um— He wielded the Infinity Gauntlet. Reversed the Snap – that which killed so many. He revived Thor. He even… He created a New Asgard. But that night, there was much revelry, before I was to return here, to Knowhere—” Return here, huh? So this little cutie went _back_ to this New Asgard… And came back. For Tan-Tan. “He was exhausted. He was in no state to engage in music and excitement, he— He was distracted, and unwell. He told me that he was to fall into a coma, in the coming days. I asked why this should be, and he told me it mattered not, merely that when it should happen, I ought call for you – En Dwi Gast. The Grandmaster. And then he destroyed the Infinity Gauntlet, destroying each of the stones too.” Fandral sinks slowly down into a chair, and he presses his palms together, touching them against his nose as he stares into the middle distance. “Taneleer’s best guess is that the destruction of the Mind Stone, with which he had then been newly connected, addled his mind. Shattered parts of him he knew not how to fix. It took him twelve hours to devolve into that coma, Mr Gast. Twelve hours of— He slowly became less coherent, grabbing tightly to me, sobbing that he merely wished to be returned to Sakaar, that he was not meant for this life, that he wanted to return to _you_. He would take the pain, he said, if it would only come with peace. Thor was distraught. He would not believe that Loki adored you as it seemed he was claiming, but I—”

Fandral huffs out a noise.

“Foolishly, I believed his fevered askance that he be given over to you. I was wrong to, it seems.” Fandral murmurs the words more to himself than to En Dwi, and he puts his head in his hands. “I don’t want to— To kill him. I can’t… We grew up together.”

“You’re not gonna kill him,” En Dwi says, his voice low and his tone severe. “I’m, uh. I’m gonna figure out what’s wrong.” Fandral looks up at him. There’s no hope in his pretty brown eyes this time, merely caution, and uncertainty. “How long, uh… How long have you been taking care of my little brother, Sunshine?”

“A year now,” Fandral says. “I fell through… The enchantress Amora, she attempted to save me from Thor and Loki’s sister, Hela. My shieldmates, Hogun and Volstagg, they were sent unto Heimdall, but I fell through a distortion… I was unwell for many months, physically weak. Taneleer allowed me scant work, here in the museum, and I simply— His last attendant was shot, by a Navari trader. It was only natural that I take his place.”

“And what makes you so special?” En Dwi asks, his voice dripping with condescension.

“Nothing,” Fandral answers. “I suppose that must be why he likes me. It angers you, that he is pleased with me. Why?”

“You should have woken me,” Taneleer says from the doorway, and Fandral leans back in his seat. He is weak, and he stumbles slightly as he enters: En Dwi catches him under the arm, and Taneleer groans softly even as En Dwi supports him toward the chair Fandral sits in. Taneleer sinks into his lap, despite a sound of protest, and En Dwi watches Fandral wind his arms around Taneleer’s waist. “No,” he mumbles. “I am barely…”

“You need to sleep,” Fandral murmurs. “You ought not resist it, Taneleer: you will be dizzy until you have taken the rest you need.”

En Dwi watches Fandral’s fingers linger on his brother’s cheek, and he sees Taneleer’s head loll, sees him lean into Fandral’s shoulder as if he’s a cute little thing, as if he’s just— How many thousand years has it been since Taneleer looked so _small_? Fandral strokes over his back, and he inhales Taneleer’s scent, taking in his hair.

“I think,” En Dwi says, over Taneleer’s head, and Fandral peers at him, apparently surprised to still be addressed, “That he’s… He’s conjuring _universes_. Whatever power he dragged through him, honey, there’s a lot of it sticking around. He isn’t just dreaming, in that coma of his. He’s hopping around, trying to, uh, trying to find whatever’ll fix him up.”

“And calling for you?”

En Dwi shrugs. “He’s stupid, honey. What can I say? He likes to be thrown around, likes a little bit of pain. He was sick, and tired, and he wanted Daddy to hold him close and tell him what a naughty boy he was, but that Daddy would forgive him anyway, because he didn’t want to think anymore.” 

Fandral holds Taneleer a little more closely, and he says, “I think… that you may be right.” He says it defeatedly, desperately.

En Dwi laughs.

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

When En Dwi goes back to Loki, the next morning, he’s rolled over.

The crime plan on the planet Yazid has fallen away, and he’s onto a new dream, a new, uh, a new cute little universe.

Loki’s the new secretary for the head of the Gor’t’ia Corporation, marketing dilithium in the Fictor Sector. And, uh, once again, En Dwi sees – from the outside, this time – En Dwi is his boss, is in… Power.

Hm.

Funky, huh? Cute little brain, so messed up by such _powerful_ toys, and now! This!

Playing with Lo-Lo, just like this…

Better than talking to Tan-Tan and his new pet, isn’t it?

Mmm.

Nodding to himself, En Dwi reaches out: ignoring the hiss of frosted pain on his fingertips, he touches Loki’s temple, and he relaxes into Loki’s little dream.


	2. Chapter One: Gast's Secretary

Light is filtering in through the window, and Loki sighs quietly, rolling over in his bed and pressing his face more soundly against the pillow. It is some time past the sixth hour of the day, and with the dawn, he must rise: he is to begin his new position at the Gor’t’ia Corporation today, beginning as a secretary for some higher-up in the company, and it is…

Well.

Suffice it to say, this is precisely the work his father had always claimed him to be suited for, ill for the management of a corporation himself, and so unlike Thor… And wasn’t he right?

Drawing himself from his bed, Loki takes up a tight white blouse from his wardrobe, sliding it over his naked chest, and then he reaches for a silken black tabard to wear overtop, the thick skirt flowing about his knees and showing over the thick muscle of his white calves. He will wear high boots, he thinks – Loki has never liked to have bare skin on show, if it can be avoided. Drawing on an outer jacket, he belts it tight about his waist, and he looks at the figure he cuts in the mirror, the exaggerated bell of his silhouette – typical indeed, for a secretary upon Fis.

If Father could see him now, what might he say?

Naught unexpected.

And Thor…

Turning from the mirror, Loki reaches up, tying his hair tightly at the nape of his neck and pinning the bun in place before he begins to make his bed. He draws the sheets back into their position, crisp and evenly laid over the mattress, and he wishes his life could be so simple to smooth out, to leave so fine and orderly; eating the contents of a breakfast capsule as he takes up his computer tablet and his swipecard for the monorail, he woefully tocks up his available funds for the month in his head.

They had let him go from his work at the docks some weeks ago after discovering his father owned the company for which they were supplying, figuring him as some corporate spy; he had been utterly unable to work as a librarian _before_ that without one journalist or another slipping into the public library to demand of him some question or other. He is too much of a public figure to work on public desks, and yet every other job he gets, it seems that Asgard owns some stake in the company, or has some manner of fiscal alliance…

Gor’t’ia has no such trouble.

The very advert had just _fallen_ into his lap, sent directly to _his_ personal frequency by some vague computing error, as he had been on no such mailing list, but— Why, what fate. He had applied, he had been interviewed, and he had been told he would be assigned to one of the upper members of the corporate command team at Gor’t’ia.

Simple.

Gods, he prays it will be simple.

He needs the money, and too many of his possessions are tailored or made _for_ him: if he were to sell them, pawn them, he knows that Thor would get wind of it, and then he might make a discovery of Loki’s address, come for him… Wrinkling his nose, Loki climbs the stair toward the monorail station, and he swipes his card before stepping onto the Delta line, leaning back against a wall and allowing himself to proceed in the direction of the Gor’t’ia main building.

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

“And this, last thing, is the office kitchen,” Carina says, spreading her palms out in a neat, well-practised gesture of display. She’s only a young girl, a little flustered and visibly anxious, and Loki surveys the kitchen with a quiet detachment, taking it in. There are chrome surfaces about the room; a simple stove, several cupboards, a refrigeration unit…

“I take my lunch from capsules,” Loki says politely, and Carina deflates slightly.

“Oh,” she says. “I was hoping you might be somebody else that cooks – I’m the only person that uses the kitchen, really.” There’s a short pause, and Loki reflects that perhaps this is his cue to be friendly, or to make small talk, but he has no real desire to do either, and so he remains silent until Carina falters, and continues. “Well, um— Look. So, whenever a new secretary joins the pool, um, they’re usually assigned to… He probably won’t like you. And it isn’t personal, or anything, I… I don’t think… But he tends to go through secretaries very quickly.”

“He?” Loki prompts dispassionately.

“En Dwi Gast,” Carina says, and Loki frowns slightly, tilting his head to the side.

“En Dwi Gast,” he repeats. “He is the Chief Executive of Gor’t’ia, is he not?” Nervously, as if she expects Loki to somehow be upset with this arrangement, nods her head. “Very well. Show me to my work station, please.”

“You don’t want some time to, uh— Do you, do you know much about him? About Mr Gast?”

“He is my employer,” Loki says, patiently. “Why, are there some documents I ought peruse first?”

“No, no, Mr Gast will have everything on your desk, and he’ll probably take you through what he wants, because his last secretary actually moved to Fas after he was done with her, but—” What _fear_ she has. A dozen times, Loki had seen one secretary or other of Odin’s quit their employment in tears, unable to withstand his beratement nor his tantrums, nor the workload he expected, but Loki is determined, and will hardly be frightened by some aging individual with a temper.

“Very well,” Loki repeats, his tone slightly harder. “Show me to my work station, please.” Carina stares at him, her red lips quivering, but then she clasps her hands before her belly and gives a slight bow, stepping from the room and allowing Loki to follow in her stead. This floor is primarily a reception: a beautiful waiting area spans out from the centre of the room, where rests the internal teleportation pod (if Loki were to be honest, he rather prefer the more traditional elevator, but teleportation is all the rage these days, as dilithium crystals become cheaper and can better support the energy costs required), and there are primarily executive offices on this floor. Carina is secretary to the Vice Executive, Taneleer Tivan; the other offices on the floor belong to executives of various departments, and Loki plans to better study the chain of command later this evening.

Carina lets him slip into an office, and Loki glances about it curiously. It’s a smaller waiting area, artfully decorated in charcoal greys with white walls; upon a coffee table rests a rock arrangement, water bubbling calmingly within the installation. The secretary’s desk is entirely bare, but for one computer panel, and a single, empty pot.

“The last secretary left in kind of a hurry,” Carina mumbles awkwardly, and then she slips forward, looking at the door before them, upon which is printed in shining golden letters the name **EN DWI GAST, CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER**. Raising a shaking, pink hand, Carina lets her knuckles hover for a long moment over the dark wood, her entire body visibly trembling.

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at her plain intimidation, Loki says mildly, “Perhaps if you return to Mr Tivan, Carina. I will acquaint myself with Mr Gast without your introduction.” She turns to stare at him, her lips parted in a mix of surprise and gratitude.

“Really?”

“Quite,” Loki says primly. “Off you go.”

Carina all but dashes from the room, with scarcely a goodbye thrown behind her, and Loki _does_ roll his eyes this time, bringing his knuckles up to the door and rapping upon the wood three times.

“Oh, uh, come in!” comes the call back, and Loki turns the knob, delicately stepping inside. Flicking his computer tablet out from his wrist in a well-practised motion, he draws up his note-taking app, and he does a quick survey of the room in the second he takes to push the door closed. Gast’s office is decorated in bright golds and soft blues, far too gaudy to be tasteful, but that—

Hm. A big ego, Loki might surmise.

Turning to the man himself, who is sprawled at his desk and wearing a gold lame tunic over black leggings, Loki gives a polite smile, and a small bow of his head. “Mr Gast,” he says delicately, taking a step forward. “My name is Loki Odinson: I am your new secretary. Whilst the company has already vetted me, I’m content to go through my curriculum vitae with you – if you’d rather dispense with such things, however, I am content to put myself to work familiarising myself with the files at hand, or place myself to work with whatever you particularly need right now. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Gast is wearing a wide smile on his face, his hands loosely clasped over his belly, and he leans back even further in his office chair. His ankles, which are loosely crossed over one another, rest on his desk, and Loki surveys with some mild disapproval that the man is wearing _sandals_ , bearing the blue nail polish he wears upon his toes to the room at large. Similar paint marks his fingernails, and running from his mouth down toward his chin is another stripe of electric blue, a finger’s width of pigment shining on the skin.

Loki feels the most strange and arresting sensation of déja vu, and for a moment, he pauses, blinking a few times— But the sensation is gone as swiftly as it had come, and Gast politely ignores Loki’s strange hesitation.

“You’re, uh— You’re Loki, huh?” he asks, and he looks Loki up and down as if making some careful examination of him, taking in his body. His gaze lingers overmuch on the exact shape of Loki’s body, upon the shape of his hips and his shoulders, lingering on the skirt that hides his legs. “Why are you, um— What’s with the outfit?”

“This is standard fare for secretarial workers,” Loki says simply, spreading his hands slightly. A part of him, uh, a part of him just thrills at the attention, at the charm of it, heats his skin and delights him, but he wants this job, he _needs_ it, and he won’t be drawn into fucking him merely so he can be let go almost immediately. “Why, Mr Gast, would you prefer I cultivate a different wardrobe?”

“I’d, uh… I don’t know,” Gast purrs, setting one of his elbows on the arm of his chair, and then putting his chin upon his hand. He looks Loki up and down once again, taking him in, and then he adds, “I think I’d like to see you in something a little tighter.” Arching one dark eyebrow, Loki feels his lip twitch.

“Mr Gast, if you would like for me to arrange an appointment for you with an erotic professional, I am happy to do so, but first I will need to acquaint myself with your current schedule.” Loki speaks in an even, easy tone, but he does not allow himself to blink or to falter, not to show any sign of weakness. His back remains straight, his expression neutral, and he keeps his gaze on Gast.

“Who says it’s erotic?” Gast asks, his voice low. “Maybe it’s _aesthetic_.”

“If you are concerned with aesthetics, Mr Gast, we might begin with the state of your office,” Loki replies. He can see precisely what the game is, here – why Gast goes through secretaries quite so quickly is plain from the outset, if he immediately moves to sexual comments, and then presumably moves onto other kinds of intimidation. It is a simple power play, the work of a man concerned with casual sadism, and Loki is too accustomed to sadism to be especially perturbed.

Gast blinks at him.

“The st— State of my office? Why, what, uh— What do you mean?”

“It is gaudy, Mr Gast. Perhaps I might make redecoration the first of my duties, if aesthetic is such a concern of yours.”

“You are— You are _bold_ ,” Gast says, but he laughs, and then he says, “Just, uh— Go, go through the files Yatriz left, she kept, um… _Meticulous_ diaries, kinda, uh… She was kinda uptight. Are you uptight?”

“I will go through the files Yatriz left, Mr Gast,” Loki says sweetly. “Is there anything else?”

“I’d like for you to, uh, to call me sir.” By the Gods, this is _absurd_ , but Loki remains a marble pillar, unmoved, and untarnished.

“Of course,” Loki replies mildly. “Is there anything else, _sir_?”

“Cuppa coffee?”

“A cup of coffee, Mr Gast: do you take sugar?”

“Just some honey, honey.” Gast murmurs, his lips twitching, his golden eyes focused directly on Loki’s face.

“My name is Loki, Mr Gast,” Loki says patiently.

“Uh huh,” Gast says. “And?”

“I will answer to my name, Mr Gast,” Loki says. “And nothing else.” He feels like he has said this before, although he knows he hasn’t, not to anybody. He’s never been in a position even remotely similar to this one, and yet the words seem to catch in his throat even as they slide off his tongue, harkening back to some other time—

“Oh, _okay_ ,” Gast replies, giving a little chuckle, and then he says, “You, uh, you _are_ uptight.”

“A coffee with honey, Mr Gast, and I will go through the files Yatriz left; I will begin to keep a meticulous diary of the work I complete. Given your proclivity for moving swiftly through your secretaries, I should imagine that is best practice.”

“Seems to me, uh, like you’re jinxing it,” he says, looking at Loki with deep amusement shining in his eyes, pulling at his lips. He’s leaning forward, almost imperceptibly, and he is so concentrated on Loki that as a younger man – even two years ago, even three – he might have flinched under the intensity of his gaze, or away from his plain concentration. That was some time ago, however. Things have changed. “Almost like you think I’m gonna, uh, let you go, right off the bat.”

“I’m sure you won’t, Mr Gast,” Loki says, and he takes a step back, toward the door. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

And with that, ignoring the strange headache that is beginning to thrum in the back of his head, Loki puts himself to work.

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

The first day, with Loki, that’s, uh— That’s really _something_. He comes into En Dwi’s office so, um, so _prim and proper_ , and it’s just… Golly. He’d never been like that with En Dwi on Sakaar, had never dared to speak to him so sharply, never dared to be so, uh, so _assertive_. He kinda likes it.

Makes breaking him down so much more, uh, _fun_.

The first day, he goes, uh—

He goes pretty easy.

Just watches Loki, drinks his coffee, really—

Really keeps a close eye on him. The information for this universe is kinda filtering into his head, and golly, _golly_ , has Lo-Lo got some… _Issues_. Daddy, in this universe, doesn’t just— Doesn’t let him throw himself into the abyss of space, n… No…

But instead, he kicks Loki out on his cute little tushy when Loki disobeys Daddy’s little rules about who Loki can, uh, can date, and that— Mmm, interesting. Maybe a little bit revealing, En Dwi thinks, given that said guys mostly seem to have been, uh, older, and _men_ , which—

En Dwi knows Loki doesn’t exclusively like men. Loki’s been married before, to a woman, and to a Jötunn, and that, uh… Huh.

Uh huh.

Subconscious stuff. It’s interesting, makes En Dwi really want to dig into the uh, the psychology of it all, but… Not yet. No, not yet. He wants to play with Loki, wants to play with him _now._

So he gives him the day. He watches Loki patiently type up voice messages; he watches Loki organise En Dwi’s schedule; he watches Loki make calls and send subspace communications, and just—

Look so damn pretty in his ugly little clothes.

But once the day is over?

Once the sun is setting, and Loki is getting ready to go home?

Well. He’s—

He’s fair game.

En Dwi moves swiftly across his little office, framing Loki against the wall with two arms before he can reach for the door. Raising both of his eyebrows, Loki doesn’t so much as _flinch_ , doesn’t even _blink_ , and just stares En Dwi down! Oh, yeah, En Dwi absolutely believes Loki doesn’t remember who En Dwi is, because— Because if he did, gee, he’d never be this, uh…

 _Stupid_.

“Tighter clothes,” En Dwi murmurs against Loki’s cute little mouth, and Loki narrows his eyes.

“Mr Gast,” Loki whispers. “I shall dress appropriately for my position. No more, and no less. I shall not be intimidated by your petty sexual comments.”

“I’ll pay,” En Dwi offers immediately, and he sees something shift in Loki’s eyes – it isn’t greed, or desire, or, uh, or even want. No, no, he recognizes that cute little kittenish spark, has seen it before, and, uh, he kinda _likes_ it. Curiosity. “Let it be, uh, a work expense. Let me pick out what you wear.”

“I fear that if I do that, Mr Gast, I shall be completing my duties wearing nothing at all.” En Dwi laughs.

“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe so.”

“Good night, Mr Gast,” Loki says, and he stares at En Dwi expectantly, as if he thinks En Dwi is just gonna back down, back down and let Loki _past_ , but— Mmm. No, no, that’s his, uh, little problem here, En Dwi can _feel_ the knowledge seeping into the back of his head, because this weird little universe of Loki’s is just… It’s really just made for En Dwi to play in, although he doesn’t know if that’s on purpose or not. Loki thinks that En Dwi is all talk – he thinks that En Dwi isn’t gonna really, uh, really touch him.

“Mmm, I need you to stay late,” En Dwi decides. “Come, uh, come into my office.” Neither of them move. They remain in place, En Dwi’s hands either side of Loki’s head, their mouths almost touching, their chests only a few inches apart. “I got, uh… I got some, um, duties I just need to lay out for ya.”

Loki leans back, just slightly, and En Dwi can see his hair bun brush against the wall, and in his eyes, he can see the first flare of something that isn’t quite fear, not just yet, but there’s caution, and uncertainty, and ooh, golly, that is just… That is just _delicious_. En Dwi wants to, uh, wants to savour this.

“Mr Gast,” Loki says, with the barest bit of hesitation in his voice. “I really ought home. I will be here at the eighth hour precisely tomorrow morning to assist you with anything you might require.”

“Thought I told you I wanted you to call me sir,” En Dwi whispers.

“So you did, _sir_. Pray, release me.”

“Release you? I’m not, uh, I’m not holding you. That’s, uh, that’s a song, isn’t it?” En Dwi leans in even closer, so that their noses touch, and he sings in a low, soft croon, “ _Please release me, let me go… ‘Cause I_ —”

Loki’s hand presses against En Dwi’s chest, and his palm, in this universe, isn’t cold and hard, oh no. It’s warm, and _soft_ , and although he can feel callouses on the fingers and on his palm – although from what, in this, uh, this universe, En Dwi doesn’t know – it isn’t the hard stone it usually is. He presses hard against En Dwi’s chest, firmly, and En Dwi doesn’t move. He remains in place, remains staunch and steadfast, and he can see the surprise on Loki’s face at exactly how _strong_ En Dwi is, can see the sudden flicker of genuine fear.

Aw, yeah.

Mmm, that’s, uh, that’s what Daddy likes.

Loki bows his head to try to dip under En Dwi’s arm, but En Dwi grabs him by the throat, pins him back against the wall, and he smiles sweetly, so sweetly. “You— You, uh, you need this job, don’t you, honey? You need… Money. For rent, for, uh, for all kindsa stuff, of course you do, and me, I, uh, I think you deserve a raise.”

“It’s my first day, Mr Gast,” Loki whispers, breathless and just the slightest bit pitchy. “I should hardly think I’ve earned a raise in pay so swiftly.”

“Well,” En Dwi murmurs, and he slides his knee up between Loki’s legs, pushing up the fabric of the skirt and pressing it right in between those muscular thighs, and Loki exhales sharply, giving a jolt. “The day isn’t over yet, sweetheart.”

“Mr Gast,” Loki says. “You shall call me _Loki_ , and nothing else. And you shall release me _immediately_.”

“Mmm…” En Dwi murmurs, and then says, “Uh, no.” And he shoves their mouths together, his tongue forcing its way into Loki’s pretty little mouth. Loki grunts out a sound of desperate complaint, trying to scramble free, but En Dwi keeps at it, keeps kissing him hard and rough, with a hint of teeth – just the way that he knows Loki likes, just the way he knows Loki _loves_ —

Until Loki shudders, and relaxes. He lets En Dwi kiss him, lets En Dwi take what he wants from Loki’s mouth, and it’s so _weird_ , so funny, to feel how warm Loki’s mouth is, and how wonderfully warm. It’s, uh, it’s certainly real different from usual, really different… When En Dwi lets him go, Loki gasps for air like he’s been drowning, his cheeks flushed red instead of the lilac they always used to go, and he stares at En Dwi, _stares_ at him.

“You— You can’t do,” Loki breathes out desperately, stumbling slightly on his unsteady feet. “You can’t do that. You must release me, Mr Gast, I—”

“Aw, but— But, sweetie,” En Dwi whispers, and he traces two fingers over Loki’s thin lower lip, feeling where it’s a little swollen from En Dwi’s rough treatment, and wondering exactly how easy it might be to leave him with a little bruising on his mouth. “Think— Think of it like this, huh? You’re, uh, Odin Borson’s baby, aren’t you?” Loki recoils, and En Dwi beams. “Yeah, that’s— Okay, I may have known that when you were, uh, in the pile for interview – but it must be real hard for you to, um, find a job without Daddy Dearest coming to get you… But hey, uh, here, that’s no problem right here. You can keep this job. And I’ll… I’ll give you a nice raise, plus, uh, plus the allowance for some nice clothes. And all you have to do, baby, all you have to do, is be good for me. Can you do that? Can you be good for me?”

“Let me go,” Loki says, and he tries to make it an order, oh, he tries so hard, but—

“It just takes one bad word from me, Loki,” En Dwi whispers. He looks right into Loki’s pretty blue eyes, enjoying that beautiful shine in them, at the way they water just slightly, the way those heavy, pretty eyelashes shift as he blinks. “With your family’s feelers out for you, with the public, _and_ me saying, uh, what a mess you are, stealing from the workplace, rude, entitled, nasty… Well, no one is gonna hire you on the _planet_. And you don’t exactly have the money to leave, do ya? Not since, uh, not since Daddy cut you out. Even if you got the deposit back on your apartment, sold all your things… Would you have enough money to go?”

Loki stares at him, his eyes so wide and so _pretty_ , his mouth open and his jaw shifting, opening and closing, opening and closing, and stars, ain’t that just— Isn’t he just the _sweetest_? What a picture he is. What a _picture_.

“I… You—” He trails off, obviously unable to come up with something better, and En Dwi’s lips quirk up at their edges once more.

“Now,” he says softly. “Just— Let’s make this easy on, uh, on both of us, okay? Just go back into my office, sit down, uh, sit down on my desk, and what I’ll do, is… I’m gonna spread these cute little thighs apart, and I’m gonna tongue you silly. Because— Baby, you, uh, you want that. Don’t you pretend otherwise, ‘cause I can see it in those baby blues of yours: you want my mouth on you, and you want to ride my face ‘til this little mark of mine smears all over my jaw.”

Loki stares at En Dwi, powerless – so beautifully powerless…

And then!

Then!

He nods his pretty little head.

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

It starts, uh—

It starts just like that.

En Dwi licks Loki out, sucks on his cute little cock ‘til he _wails_ with it, ‘til he fills up the whole floor with his whines and yell of noise, his skirt bunched up around his thighs, and En Dwi doesn’t stop at making him come once – he goes again, until he can feel Loki twitching under him helplessly, not even, uh, not able to _stop_ , until he’s trembling all over, shaking—!

Perfect.

So perfect.

The next day? Loki wears something, uh, a little tighter. Not as tight as En Dwi would like, no, but it’s tighter – he wears a black tunic and skinny trousers, and it just makes him so, mmm, grabbable. And there’s something exciting about that, about keeping the focus on, uh, on Loki’s pleasure, to begin with – it makes Loki so uncertain about how to protest, how to complain, and En Dwi, oh, he loves that.

And Loki does his little secretary work: he makes En Dwi’s appointments, sets up his orders, and just… Golly, he’s actually pretty good at it. Good enough that En Dwi kinda wonders if he wouldn’t be up to this, uh, out in the real world, but that’s— Hm. That’s not so important, for now.

En Dwi gets the feeling that this is gonna take a while.

So he, uh, he focuses on the clothes, to start with.

It gets tighter. Much nicer, much better, and he gives him the raise, doubles the starting salary of a secretary and then, uh, adds in the expenses for his wardrobe. It’s—

Interesting.

Loki will withstand the attention, will just _take_ it when En Dwi wants to work on him with his fingers or his mouth: he’ll start off keeping still, obviously not sure where to put his lovely soft hands, and then gripping them tightly in his skirt or on the chair or on the desk, and he’ll just take it! He’ll wail and whine and whimper, but he won’t touch En Dwi back, acts as if, uh, as if En Dwi is just using him as a toy, as if this is fun for _him_ …

Ha.

And isn’t he right?

All this, too, just on top of that startlingly good secretarial work, and he is just the whole packagae, the whole package, but mmm, En Dwi, uh, he wants to push it a little bit more. He wants to push it.

Little by little, as the weeks go by – and golly, do the weeks go by _fast_ in this fake universe of Loki’s, because it just seems to hop and skip time when Loki isn’t in the room with him, and that is just convenient – he puts a little more pressure on. He’s a little bit rougher with Loki, and a little bit harsher on him. Works him longer hours, even—

Even bites him, just a little bit. Spanks him. Marks him up in a way that isn’t _just_ pleasure, that’s more, uh—

It’s more about owning him.

And golly, if Loki doesn’t just respond to that, too. He arches up and into En Dwi’s mouth like he’s eager for it, like nobody’s ever bitten him before (maybe they haven’t, in this universe) and like he craves it, like he’s always craved it.

The weeks tick by, nice and easy, and then, uh, and then the months.

And golly. Ooh, golly, if En Dwi isn’t ready to, uh, to kick things up a notch.

“You know what, Lo-Lo?” En Dwi whispers after the two months of having Loki in his office, working away. “I think you’ve been, um… I think you’ve just been so, uh, so _selfish_. You always let me work away at you, but you never, uh, you never reciprocate – so, uh, so hurtful.”

“I don’t want this,” Loki whispers back. “You know that I don’t.” He closes his eyes tightly for a second, and En Dwi recognises that look – now and then, that little pinched look, as if he’s in pain. Like he’s got a little headache. He sees that, uh, once or twice a day from Lo-Lo, and he has to wonder what it means – is that a sign that En Dwi is, uh, is getting through?

“Oh,” En Dwi says, pouting. “But, uh, _sweetheart_ , you just— You can’t be selfish. It isn’t about you all the time.” Loki hesitates, hesitates for a long few moments, and En Dwi slides his hands over Loki’s cheeks, touching them gently. “You don’t want to be selfish, do you? You want to be _good_?”

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

“I want to be employed,” Loki replies, and Gast laughs at him, laughs loud and long, _squeezing_ Loki’s cheeks. Gods, Loki hates the way his body thrills at that squeeze – it’s purely Pavlovian, the way his body responds to Gast’s touch, despite the ugly nature of his personhood, the ugly nature of everything Gast does, touching him, playing with him, _toying_ with him…

Despite himself, Loki is wet. Blood rushes down to his cunt, making it ripe and wet and ready, and he can barely stand it, barely stand the way Gast’s thumbs brush over the curve of Loki’s cheeks—

“Well, that’s, uh, that’s almost the same,” Gast murmurs. “I want _you_ , I want you to, uh, I want you to lick me today. Can you do that for me? And after, we’re gonna, uh. We’re gonna take a long lunch at that Grafalan place you like around the corner, huh?” Loki hates it when Gast does this. He recalls the most benign details of Loki’s life and he recites them at will – he takes note of Loki’s favourites and least favourites, makes such an obscene show of _doting_ on him, as if he genuinely likes Loki, as if Loki is something more than a plaything to him—

“Lick you,” Loki repeats, and he feels the shame burst and bubble inside him like water in a kettle coming to a boil, wonders, not for the first time, why he doesn’t just walk out of the door. And yet— He needs the money. If he only stays here, if he only withstands it – for he has withstood two months, he can withstand a little more – and saves his money, then he might leave forever. Go somewhere else entirely, where he will be _free_. Not merely of Gast’s obscenities, to which Loki has already given himself over, but of his father’s influence.

“Lick me,” Gast murmurs. “I just want to, uh… To jam myself down that lovely little throat of yours. Okay, Lo-Lo?”

Splitting pain cracks down the centre of his skull, and Loki falls back onto the floor, landing hard upon his backside. He cries out, clutching at his head, and his head is assaulted with images: it isn’t mere pain, isn’t just the twinge of a headache or strange déja vu he experiences with Gast, but…

He has a vision of Gast looking down at him as Loki is strapped down upon some terrible machine; another of Thor with his arms strapped down to a chair, yelling at Gast; a vision of some great and sprawling arena—

And just like that, Loki is Loki, and all he knows is agony.

He screams, screams as loudly as he possibly can, and he wrenches the world of Gor’t’ia away from around him, letting it burn: he needs another one, quickly, another one, another world, something else to hide in, must get away, must be free, must escape—

☉ ◯ ☉ ◯ ☉

The whole world burns away like phoenix fire, and En Dwi comes to awareness in the infirmary, staring down at Loki on the table. Loki is completely still, comatose, and even as En Dwi’s fingers linger on his forehead, he can feel the universe rolling over in his head, feel it click into place.

It doesn’t feel like it’s just, uh, just internal in his head, it really doesn’t.

It feels like a keyhole to another place.

No more secretary, no: something else is forming, cooking up from that kooky little brain, and En Dwi can feel the thickness of the magic on the air around him, can all but _taste_ it brewing.

Mmm, time, to, uh…

Time to dive in again.

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up on Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


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